Protecting an Angel
by minchedder
Summary: Monica's life gets turned upside-down when her husband's true nature is revealed. Who is assigned to protect her? None other then Chandler Bing. Mondler. Read and review please! x
1. Chapter 1

**Protecting an Angel**

_Whoa, I bet you all thought I'd disappeared, didn't you? It's been an amazingly and stupidly long 6 months since I've written anything for Fan Fiction. Which is a shame. But, I've had a terrible 6 months to be honest... I was diagnosed with Leukaemia in Mid-February. The past few months have been hell, I've undergone an intense and horrible course of Chemotherapy which completely destroyed me and all of my life, it's been absolutely terrible. But, two months ago, I received the wonderful news that every cancer patient hopes to hear, I was in remission! The two months after were mainly about me trying to get my life back on track and my health up to standard. I hope I don't sound too whiny or anything, but I thought you deserved to know the truth... Also, I would like to say thank you to all your support over the past months, they meant an awful lot to me. I would also like to say thank you to Skyfighter, who pm'd me saying you all missed me, I missed you all too... I have LOTS to catch up on, don't I? Anyway, Class may or may not be updated, depends on if I get my muse back or not... Oh, I don't own friends either... _

** ~/~**

The smell of tobacco and strong masculine aftershave polluted the stale atmosphere in the large bustling office. A murky grey fog of cigarette and cigar smoke clung to the tangible air beneath the dull flickering yellow lights which hung low on the cream coloured ceiling. The industrial white blinds where half-closed, slithers of yellow morning daylight flitted through the gaps onto the dark oak wood interior. The off-white walls were littered with bulletins, timetables and most wanted posters, mismatching dark wood desks were piled high with paperwork and coloured folders, old computers stood on the desks in amongst the chaos of the work. At the very back of the room, around 20 or so smartly dressed men resided, notebooks out as they waited eagerly for their assignments.

In the midst of all the suited men stood a fair-haired 27 year-old man by the name of Chandler Bing, the newest addition to the office. He waited by the doorway, smiling at the sight before him. He loved his job.

A few years ago though, Chandler despised his job with a passion, he worked as a Date Processor in a corporate company in New York until is sudden and unexpected quitting when he reached 25, not wanting to spend his entire adult life in an office inputting numbers into a computer, he decided to join the NYPD, a move that shocked both himself and his friends and family. It became clear within a few months though, that Chandler did not only just love this job, but he was rather good at it to. After only a year as an officer, Chandler was moved into a smaller office downtown New York, working alongside the FBI in the witness protection program.

All the men were waiting outside their boss, Henry's, gloomy office, waiting for their next assignments with eagerness. Bags were packed behind them with all their essentials, guns were armed and cars full of fuel, all the officers stood with high expectations, hoping to be given a decent case.

All breaths were held as Henry walked into the room, Chandler stood up straighter, as did the other men.

"Bing" Henry said, beckoning them forward. Chandler grinned and followed his boss into the stuffy little office. Henry's office was lacking in organisation even more so then the rest of the workplace, paperwork and files strewn the rooms, filing cabinets lined an entire wall and were struggling to fit all the paper into them.

"What you got for me Boss?" Chandler

Henry dropped a dark blue paper envelope onto the desk and pushed it towards him. Perching on the edge of the cramped desk, Chandler flipped it open and began reading. His brow furrowed.

"Boss, are you sure?" Chandler said, reading the extensive list "this seems pretty high profile, I-I'm still new"

"Bing, I wouldn't give this to you if I didn't think you were capable" Henry said, his old grey-blue eyes twinkling slightly. He liked Chandler; he was good at his job.

"Okay" Chandler nodded, swallowing slightly as he read the black ink printed on the thin white paper of his newest assignment.

"You leave in an hour" Henry said, patting Chandler's shoulder and allowing him to read. The case looked simple enough, a woman catching her husband in major drug scandal and needs to lie low until the gang is arrested and divorce is finalised. He sighed, turning over the page and looking at the woman's profile. A small photo of her was at the top, she was a pretty young woman, dark raven hair that flowed to her shoulders, perfect pale white skin and piercing bright blue eyes. He smiled; maybe these two weeks wouldn't be too bad after all...

**~/~**

Chandler pulled up in front of a large, grand suburban house in Long Island little over an hour later. His body a bundle of nerves. He took one last fleeting look at his brief before heading off up the gravel driveway. He knocked the door firmly, feeling his palms sweat in anticipation.

Seconds later though, a young woman opened the door, his breath caught in his throat. A deep purple bruise encircled her left eye, causing the skin around it to swell; her bottom lip was slightly swollen too. She offered a small feeble smile as Chandler mechanically flashed his badge at her.

"Hi, I'm officer Chandler Bing" Chandler said, raising his hand to shake hers. She looked at it questioningly, as if she was scared before timidly shaking his hand.

"I'm Monica" she said quietly, moving aside to let him into the house.

**~/~**

_So, what are your views? I know that this is a very short chapter... But, I wanted to see if there was any interest for this soft of thing. Let me know please! :) _


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors Notes:** Hello sweethearts, it's me here again with chapter number two for you all. Now, in this chapter not much 'action' happens really. I'm trying to set up Monica's side of the story too, as well as Chandler's.

Before I begin the actual story, I just wanted to say a massive, long overdue thank you for all of your support, you're very, very sweet people and I can't say how much it means that you are very kind people. So once again, thanks.

Also, I don't like the title of my story anymore, it's a little bit rubbishy in my opinion. Does anyone have any ideas that will make the story better?

**Disclaimer: **Do I own friends? No, I don't, sorry for anyone who was under the impression I did own them.

**Chapter Two.**

It seemed that despite the vast amount of money that had been spent when purchasing the bed, its soft and comforting mattresses and silky smooth covers would not allow Monica to drift off into the land of dreams that night. Where most people were sleeping blissfully, Monica simply could not relax. The cogs and wheels in her mind were frantically turning like clockwork, showing absolutely no signs of slowing down either. So whilst the rest of America had been taken by the sandman to the land of pleasant dreams, Monica was left behind with only her thoughts as company.

Sighing softly to herself, she rolled over in the bed, pulling her scarlet coloured quilt around herself. Her eyes flickered open again and she exhaled slowly at the sad emptiness beside her.

This time three months ago she was happy, more than happy actually. She thought that she had the 'perfect' life. A wonderful, handsome and intelligent husband living with her in a beautiful, big, red-bricked house in a good part of town, they were talking of starting a family together and had begun to try and get pregnant, she worked in a small, moderately successful restaurant just a stones throw away from where she lived whilst her husband commuted to work in New York. She had friends, family and love in her life; two steady incomes were allowing them to buy the best of everything that they wanted. She may have been a little naive to think so, but she was sure she was heading towards perfection.  
Little did she know, though, that her life was far from perfect and the husband she loved beyond words wasn't really who he said he was. It was all lies, her life was a lie. And she hated it.

A tear rolled down her face as she touched the space where he used to sleep, she missed him greatly, well, not the man who was revealed to her three months previous, but the man she had fallen for.

Michael Long was her first ever boyfriend, her high school sweetheart turned husband. After meeting him in her junior year at college, Monica fell flat on her face in love with him. Michael was the living representation of the phrase 'tall, dark and handsome'. He was tall, with russet, tanned skin and brown, smouldering eyes, his body was strong and muscular. He was charming, polite and intelligent; his friends adored him too, though, now Monica knew why. Being two years older than her, he graduated whilst she was still in education, he got himself a 'job' in a large corporate office in New York- or, that was his cover up story, anyway.

Monica felt stupid and played when she found out what he really did, she couldn't, wouldn't love anyone who was that nasty. He imported and sold drugs in one of America's busiest cities, he would attack men along with his 'friends' when someone owed him money. His charming side was a front, underneath he was cruel and bitter, with Monica as the 'trophy wife' he thought he'd 'sealed the deal'.

Groaning loudly, Monica kicked back the covers and walked out of bed, betrayal and misery hanging over her like a thick and suffocating cloud.

She loved him and thought he loved her too, unknown to her, though, she was simply a person to return home to, to plan the parties he loved to host for his clients and bare his children one day. He claimed he still loved her, but if you loved someone, could you stand by and watch a gang of your so-called friends beat that person up? Could you stand by whilst they threaten them with knives and guns, telling her not to give evidence against her husband? Could you stomach the thought of seeing your loved one lying on the floor helplessly, and kick her again? No, that wasn't love. If you loved someone, you wouldn't continue to order your friends to 'make her see sense' whilst in prison.

Her faith in love was no more, she would never fall again.

Monica began to clean her apartment, head-to-toe, room by room, trying to tire herself out before tomorrow when she was to meet the officer who will be protecting her from that gang.

At around 3am, she fell asleep downstairs, she couldn't lie in the bed she shared with Michael anymore. Tears lined her face as she drifted off finally, into a pitiless and haunted dream.

**...**

After a very unsettled and difficult sleep, Monica woke bright and early the next morning, feeling miserable, sick and groggy. Depressed, she got showered, dressed and packed the last of her stuff into her bag ad waited for the officer with mixed emotions. She really didn't want to leave, she wasn't in the wrong after-all, but then again, she didn't want to endure another merciless beating from her husbands old friends, her old friends. She knew the wives of these men, she even knew a few of them, yet, her husband getting out of prison was more important to them. She wasn't fighting for just herself anyway.

When the knock at the door finally came, Monica slowly unlocked her door, peering around it to check that it wasn't more of Michaels 'buddies' at the door.

"Hi, I'm officer Chandler Bing," the man introduced himself, flashing his police badge at her and smiling reassuringly. He extended his hand to her politely and slowly, almost hesitantly, she shook it in hers.

"Hi, I'm Monica," Monica said quietly.

Chandler casually tucked his FBI police identity badge into the top pocket of his dark pinstriped blue suit and smiled kindly once again at the startled young woman in front of him, even with the patchwork of multicoloured bruises over her face, he could tell she was very beautiful indeed.

With a polite and civil nod, Chandler side-stepped into her narrow, but pristinely cleaned hallway, the moment that he was inside, she skirted passed him and quickly shut the door, in an almost desperate manner, he noticed, like she was afraid of something. Most probably the people who covered her in those bruises, now he thought about it.

Monica looked closely at the stranger, inspecting him with her dazzling eyes. He was tall, with soft and curly light brown hair and piecing blue eyes, he was dressed impeccably in an undoubtedly expensive dark suit with a crisp plain white shirt, he was very handsome and cute as he stood there, his professional manner faltering slightly as he smiled at her, he looked too young and too innocent to be a policeman. She frowned at the thought, she of all people should know to never judge a book by it's cover. You never really know someone.  
She shook her head slightly before plastering a fake smile on her face again.

She cleared her throat "would you, erm," she stammered quietly "would you like a drink?" she asked.

"No, thank you, ma'am," Chandler declined courteously "the safe house is quite a distance," he said.

"O-okay," Monica nodded, shuffling her feet on the cream coloured carpet "I'll just, go get my bags then," she said.

Chandler nodded again and watched as she half-walked, half-ran up the staircase, leaving Chandler deep in thought as he admired the small suburban home. It looked too quiet and homely to be the place where one of the biggest drug dealers lived, everything from the peach coloured walls to the silver framed photos that lined them screamed out innocence, not villainous like he would expect. Then again, Monica Geller didn't seem like the type of girl to marry a thug with keen disciples, ready to kill her to stop her giving evidence in court.

As she re-emerged with her suitcase he was left pondering how she ended up in this situation.

"Are you all ready to go, ma'am?" Chandler asked her.

Monica sighed softly, glancing around what was once her peaceful home. She was almost reluctant to leave this place, her home. Could she even trust this man, a badge and smart suit doesn't always mean they're not lying about themselves? She made a mental note to herself to question him in the car.

"Yeah," she sighed "I'm all set."

"Okay," Chandler clapped his hands together "let's go."

Monica paused, taking a long look around, knowing she wouldn't be returning in a while.

She'd miss this place and her friends too, who were not allowed to know her whereabouts.

But, she had to do this.

"Let me take your bag for you, ma'am," Chandler said before grabbing her brown suitcase from the floor.

"Thanks," Monica murmured before following the officer out of her house.

**...**

Chandler pulled the car into the parking space outside the safe-house and from his briefcase he took out a small green folder. He cleared his throat slightly.

"Okay, ma'am," Chandler stammered with nerves, he hadn't ever done this alone before "there are a few, errm, things I need to go through with you."

"O-okay then," Monica said, shifting her weight slightly to face him.

"Firstly, for your protection you aren't to go anywhere without me," Chandler said "you aren't to contact your friends or family until the court proceeding have finished, if you see or suspect anything, tell me, if your contacted by anyone, tell me."

"That, errm, sounds fair," she nodded shyly.

"That's all good, ma'am," Chandler smiled.

"Just one thing," she sighed "don't call me 'ma'am' anymore, please."

**...**

So I don't feel that this was my best work, but my mind has been else where lately and I really should have tried harder but, I already wrote out chapter three, I just need to change it around a little, so it shouldn't be more than a week, and hopeful to a better standard as well.

Please let me know what you think about this story- and does anyone have any ideas how Monica and Chandler will get together? I have an idea, but y'know, you're a pretty creative bunch! Oh, and don't forget about a new title.

Thank you for reading. x


	3. Chapter 3

_Happy International Left Handers Day to all my fellow lefties! _

_Whoa, whoa, steady on ladies! I know that you all find cop Chandler hot, but it seems like a few of you are going to need a cold shower- hehe! I had no less than three reviews expressing love for Chandler. Well, whatever floats your boats! What is it anyway, the uniform? _

_Anyway, enough 'bout all of that, THANK YOU for the reviews, you're all very sweet and lovely people for even reading my work, let alone reviewing._

_Here's chapter three for you wonderful people to read. Please enjoy- I don't own Friends- and don't forget to review!_

**Chapter Three**

After Chandler had finally finished giving Monica the briefing on what she was and wasn't allowed to do during the entire time she was in his care, Monica climbed out of the shiny silver vehicle with a miserable sadness about her.

Monica was now beginning to feel as if it was she who was the prisoner rather than everyone else who was still yet to of been caught by the police. After their undoubtedly violent days were over they were free to go home to their waiting families and friends, go to sleep and do normal things within the comfort of their own homes. Monica on the other hand was living in a fashion which closely resembled being a child again, or being under house arrest, which ever analogy you make about it, her freedom for the time being was effectively over.

She had to live her life, if you could even call it a life, in a house with a man whom she doesn't know and has lost her independence. All the thuggish gang members had friends, families; even murderers in jail were allowed visitors! Monica was not. Her family and her friends thought she was simply 'going away for a bit'; none of them really knew where she was. It was an incredibly unfair situation she had been put in.

She shut the door gently, even though she wanted to slam it closed to release some of her pent up anger and bitter sadness, which seemed to have followed her all the way through Long Island, like a weighted and possessive cloud of pure evil.

Even in her bad mood, though, Monica had to admit the safe house far exceeded her expectations.

Nestled in a forest-like garden with overgrown trees and bushes was where the single-story house was sat. The trees that surrounded the house were ancient and domineering, looming proactively over the house with its strong, thick branches and burnt orange coloured leaves, creating a shielding canopy almost. Damp, dark green moss was beginning to engulf the tree trunks and fallen log, purple and reddish ivory began to climb the trees too, slowly strangling the life out of the old nature.

The house itself was stunning too. Built long ago out of dark wood, it looked as if it was part of the garden; it was small and cosy, with a grey sloping roof and a massive wooden chimney, which seemed to dominate most of the space. There were a few stairs leading up to the house via a little old wooden porch, complete with an old wooden bench with overlooked the picturesque view.

The overall effect was breathtaking, and if Monica had been caught in a good mood she would have gushed and squealed at the sight of it. The most she could muster today, though, was a small nod of approval.

Chandler unloaded the car and gave Monica a short tour, well very short as there were only a few rooms of the house. After doing so, Chandler began to do the routine police checks for bugs or other listening devices that might give Monica's location away. Upon finding nothing, Chandler threw his bags into his room, called his boss then slowly pottered around the kitchen taking his time making a pot of tea.

Moments before, Chandler had walked passed Monica's bedroom, with the view to offer her a drink. But, when hearing her gentle sobbing, Chandler decided it best of leave her to cry alone for a while. He'd have to get better acquainted with her before he began the comforting procedure. Plus, when it came to giving comfort, he wasn't people's first choice of who they'd go to.

Freshly made tea in hand, Chandler walked into the small little living room. Sitting on the couch he picked up the remote control and began flicking through the TV channels, looking for something to watch, settling with a game of baseball, he kicked his shoes off lazily and began to think.

It had dawned on him on the way up here just how inexperienced he was at this. It was his first ever solo case, and frankly he was terrified. He knew he had back-up only a phone call away, but they would take God knows how long to arrive there. He was questioning Henry's choice when he heard a gentle cough behind him.

Chandler turned the TV volume down and turned towards Monica, her eyes rimmed and puffy from where she had been crying.

"Is everything alright, Ma'-" he paused, stopping himself calling her 'Ma'am' again "Monica," he said, stressing her name out.

Monica opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again and simply nodded at him. She moved quietly across the room and sat on the other end of the couch; bringing her knees up to her chest she began pretending she was watching the game.

"Are you a sports fan then?" Chandler asked, trying to start up a convocation, he had no idea how he'd cope if he had to spend the next few months in a tense silence like this.

Monica sighed and shook her head.

"Oh," Chandler said, disappointed "well, we can watch something else, if you like," he offered meekly.

"No this is fine," Monica said, her voice barely audible.

"Sorry?" Chandler said, not hearing her mumbles. Monica groaned, obviously not wanting to talk to him.

"I said, it's fine," Monica repeated louder.

"Sorry," Chandler apologised, his brow furrowed as she closed her eyes, as if in pain. "Look, are you sure you're okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Monica said a little louder.

"And there isn't anything that you need-"

"What I _need_," Monica said dryly "is a husband who loves me, isn't in jail and doesn't want me dead," she snapped.

Chandler was dumfounded, he didn't know how to respond.

"Oh, God," Monica covered her face in her hand to hide her embarrassment "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at you like that."

"It's okay," Chandler assured her.

"I'm sorry," Monica repeated, tilting her head towards him "it's just been a really long day, a really long _few_ days, actually," she sighed.

"Like I said," Chandler said, his tone was calm and understanding "it's fine, you've been through a lot lately, I understand."

Monica scoffed "that's an understatement," she said, a little shortly.

Chandler didn't say anymore, just smiled sympathetically at her.

"I'm sorry I keep on doing that to you," Monica apologised "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"You're just stressed out," Chandler said "it's expected of you, try and relax a little, you're safe now," he told her earnestly.

Monica sighed yet again "I guess so;" she shrugged "I'm just so used to looking over my shoulder in case they come after me, again."

"They won't find you," Chandler said "and even if they do, that's why I'm here, I have the right to shoot and drive like a mad man," he said, Monica chuckled lightly, for the first time in months without it being forced for the benefit of others.

Fidgeting with the hem of her t-shirt as she thought, another silence settled. Monica suddenly felt another bout of loneliness hitting her, her face fell again into a forlorn expression.

"What's wrong?" Chandler asked.

"Just missing my friends and family I guess," she said "well, the few friends I have left, anyway."

"I know it's gonna be hard," Chandler said gently "but I can be your friend too, if you want."

"Isn't that against the rules?" Monica said, referring back to the infamous list of rules she'd been told earlier.

Chandler smirked slightly at her "no, it isn't," he said "I'm allowed to be friends with whoever I like, as long as I'm not meant to be arresting them," he told her.

"So what do you think then?" Chandler asked "do you think you want to be my friend?"

"I don't know," Monica said awkwardly "my last lot of friends turned out to be my enemies."

"Well, I'm one of the good guys," Chandler smiled at her. Monica remained expressionless, her mind was telling her not to trust him, not to trust anyone, but against her better judgement, Monica nodded slowly.

"Okay," she replied slowly "I'll _try_ being friends with you, Officer Bing."

Chandler gave her a large smile "don't worry about all the officer crap unless it's in a formal incident, call me Chandler."

Monica gave him a slight smile and nodded slowly, wanting to trust him completely like she should. But last time she done that, her whole life had been turned upside-down. But Chandler was one of the good guys, wasn't he?

_Sorry there isn't much going on at the moment, still, I am trying to build up a friendship with Monica and Chandler, which is taking longer that I hoped for... Mondler romance will come, but not yet. Remember that Monica has seen through hell with her husband so she won't be falling in love that soon, or making friends either. Patience is a virtue, and a virtue that I hope you all have. Thank you for sticking with me through all my ramblings and stories, I honestly don't know what I've done to deserve wonderful readers like you guys are. My life is literally crazy right now, slowly getting back on track._

_Thank you for reading my story, my love goes out to each and every one of you._


	4. Chapter 4

_Thank you so much for all of your incredible reviews, they have all been so sweet, thank you. It doesn't cease to amaze me just how well this story has been received. I thought the AU thing would be too 'out there' for you all, but, I was wrong. I'm so pleased you like this! :)_

_So I'm not allowed to leave the house for a while, as I've come down with a cold and my immune systems isn't strong enough to cope with lots of people yet, which really sucks actually... But, the doctors did say I'm on the right track to recovery... Anyway, as I'm stuck at home, you shall have to put up with realllllllyyyyyy long authors notes and updates to quench my incredible boredom._

_I had a look through 'Class' the other day- Hmmmm, I really don't know when I'll get around to it really. I really hope that I can update it, as it was incredibly popular... I am thinking about it, though, and I will really, really try. I can't remember what I was doing/where I was going with it actually... Seeing as I haven't written it in nearly 8 months._

_I still, __still__ don't own Friends._

**Chapter Four**

A sad, depressed, little sigh escaped from Monica's lips as she raised herself into a sitting position on her bed. She yawned, tired and rubbed her eyes with balled up fists. Her excessive crying and lack of sleep had taken its toll on Monica, both physically and emotionally, too. Her eyelids felt literally heavy, hard to lift and painful to blink, like sandpaper across a marble. Her head hurt, her heart hurt.

It was late evening- early morning, now and Chandler had long since retired to his own bedroom where he had promptly fallen into a blissfully, peaceful sleep. When Monica went to her bedroom, though, she was once again left behind by sleep to struggle through the night alone.

Monica yawned and flexed her aching muscles before flicking on switch on the small bedside lamp to her left. A bright, yellow light flooded her room, making her squint reflexively. Peering through the room, she looked at the clock hanging on the adjacent wall. It was 3.45am.

After blinking several times to clear her vision, Monica gazed around the small room. Her eyes suddenly landed on a photo frame that was sat on her vanity desk by the window, a lump raised in her throat and she swallowed thickly. She had only taken a handful of photos with her from Long Island, and had only gotten around to unpacking the one photo so far.

Even from this distance, seeing his face, smiling, hurt. It was like a large, neon beacon, blinking at her repeatedly, she could not stop staring at him, Michael.

Monica sighed for the second time in a few minutes and she slowly inched herself out of her bed. She stumbled like a wounded animal towards the photo, feeling her chest tightening around her hammering heart, as she got closer to the photograph.

With trembling fingers, Monica picked the photo up; it was not an old photo, a year old at most. It was of her, Michael, and a few of Monica's friends, taken way back when her life was simple, before she knew the truth, when she was happy.

"How did I not see who you really were?" Monica whispered to herself, running her shaking forefinger over Michael's face.

She did not know what to do anymore, how to feel, how to survive. She felt so confused, so overwhelmed. It seemed like one moment, she had everything and the next, nothing. She did not know the name of the emotion that she was feeling, but she did know that it hurt more than anything had ever hurt before. It was like drowning, suffocating and bleeding all at once. Like pain beyond belief, that hurt every inch of her body and every single cell of her decaying heart. It was as if she was being consumed from the inside out, it was not heartbreak, it felt more like her heart had been taken completely. It was like seeing a world that is only grey, no colour, no life.

Something that was more furious than anger suddenly hit her gut, winding her as if someone had driven a train into her stomach. Monica turned the photo over and fought with the small metal clasp at the back of it, tears of pain and betrayal fell from her eyes as she tore the photo from the frame.

She took a shaky breath and turned the photo over to look at him again. He was smiling, grinning actually, with his arm around her, his hands on her shoulder, the same hand he used against her, the same hand he had beaten countless people senseless with.

Monica wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and took yet another breath, biting her bottom lip she tore him slowly out of the photo.

She wanted nothing more of him, she wanted to wake up and this all be a dream or to crawl under a rock and forget what had happened. But she couldn't, she couldn't ever forget the pain this man had inflicted on her, she couldn't forget the love she felt, either, the countless 'I love you's they'd shared, the innumerable amount of times she'd looked at that face and considered herself lucky. What a fool he had made of her!

Gripping the paper tightly in her hands, Monica let out a pained cry and scrunched the photo into a ball before hurling it across the room. She thought she was clever, a good judge of character, but she wasn't. She gave her heart, her life to Michael, only to have him hurt her.

She put the remains of the photo and the frame on the table and buried her head in her hands, her fingers knotting into her dark hair as she cried, drawing her knees towards her chest and leaning against them.

How did she not know? How did she not even suspect he was capable of doing such a thing?

She sat there for a while, crying, before she heard a gentle knock against her bedroom door, she jumped up, startled. Wiping her eyes, Monica padded across her bedroom floor and opened the door.

Chandler stood a little further back, pyjama clad and wearing an expression of concern, after hearing her crying for a while, he couldn't take it any longer. Though he wasn't good with crying women, he also was very weak when it came to them, and Monica's tears practically screamed out pain.

"I heard you crying," Chandler said quietly, "I thought you could use some tea and cookies," he said, holding out a mug and a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

Monica smiled slightly, touched, and took the mug from him wordlessly.

"I know this is probably a stupid thing to ask, as you're probably wanting to be alone," Chandler said, rubbing the back on his neck awkwardly, "But would you like some company?" he asked.

Monica sighed softly, "A-actually," she stammered, "I wouldn't mind some company, if you don't mind," she said.

Chandler smiled, "I really don't mind, we are friends now, after all," he chuckled nervously.

Monica sniffed sadly and stepped aside, letting Chandler into the room. They both walked silently towards Monica's bed and sat together. Monica by the pillows, Chandler at the foot of the bed, he offered her a cookie shyly.

"Thank you," Monica said quietly as she took the cookie, "You didn't have to do this," she said.

"What kinda man would I be if I let you cry alone without cookies?" he asked, smiling at her.

Monica sighed, he was a very sweet man, "Your friends and family must really miss having you around," she said.

"Well, I don't really see my family," Chandler said quietly.

"Oh," Monica said, embarrassed, "Sorry."

"It's fine," Chandler said, brushing it aside, "You don't really get much time for family with job, anyway," he explained.

Monica sighed, "Doesn't that make you sad?" she asked.

"No," Chandler shook his head, "I love being a cop, besides, the further I get from my family, the better."

"Why's that?" Monica asked, "Y-you don't have to answer that," she said, "I'm sorry, I ask a lot of questions."

"That's fine," Chandler chuckled, "My parents are messed up," he said, "Have you heard of Nora Bing?" he asked.

Recognition flickered across Monica's face and her mouth dropped open, "that's-"

"Yeah," Chandler sighed, "That's my mother."

A silence settled, again, and Monica took a nibble from one of the cookies.

"You sounded really sad, earlier," Chandler said, "Wanna talk about it?"

Monica shook her head, "Not yet," he said.

"Okay," Chandler said, deciding not to push Monica any further.

"When you do-" he said.

"I know," Monica interrupted him quietly, "Thank you."

**...**

_Next chapter won't be toooooooooooooooo far off... I hope. Please review, let me know what you think! :)_

_Oh, oh, oh! I now have a twitter account, follow me on ZivahArianna xx_


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